


evergreen

by bothareinfinite



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, One Shot, Other, Polyamory, Sad, Short, i opened a new document to write smut and this came out instead, pretty vague tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 00:13:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19982866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothareinfinite/pseuds/bothareinfinite
Summary: sometime after you die, Aziraphale and Crowley come to visit.





	evergreen

The first time they come to visit, you are standing at the edge of the water. Your weight on the balls of your feet, eyes closed, your fingers stretched out ever so slightly at your sides. Like you might fall in, or else fly away.

The first time they come to visit is much later than either had planned. Not out of apathy, or even forgetfulness; it's a simple issue of numbers. The fields are vast, after all. Unending, really, and packed, a battery-cage landscape of grey faces and empty eyes. It seems to take an eternity to pick you out, pushing through the crowds in hope of seeing something familiar. Someone familiar.

As it is, when they finally find you, it is in one of the only quiet spots. The river at your feet doesn't seem to curve so much as bend, the angle as sharp as the water itself is calm. Calm, clear, unknowably deep. 

It isn't where you’d agreed to meet them before.

They don't know why they’ve come. You had insisted, before; determined that they were wrong. That you knew better, that you knew, that you would _know_ . That you would know _them_ . _“Anywhere,”_ you had said. _“Any time. I’ll remember.”_ And you had smiled, then, and pressed your lips to one’s cheek, and squeezed the other’s hand, and, and, and

And just look at you now. 

That’s what they do—they look. What’s the point of words? Your memories are gone, your hollowed-out mind unable to hold onto anything for more than a few seconds. If they say anything, you would scarcely have time to hear them before moving on to the next meaningless moment, the next piece of oblivion.

If you had the presence of mind to notice, if your nerve endings weren’t rotting and numb and on another plane of existence, you would feel their hands. One on either side. Soft to your left, sharp to your right, their fingers intertwined with yours. Your eyes open, and for one brief, cruel second, one of them succumbs to hope. But your eyes are as blank as the others. You can’t see them. You can’t know them.

 _“I’ll wait for you,”_ you’d said. Promised, even.

Who knows how long they stand there, how long they stay with you—minutes? Hours? Days, maybe. It’s hard to tell. Time is different in heaven, more fluid, untethered to silly human things like clocks and mortality. Hard to hear the ticking when it isn’t counting down to anything anymore, when you’re here already.

Who knows how long they stand there. And if you were _here_ here—truly yourself, not this vacant shell—you would feel a kiss on your left cheek. A gentle pressure on your right hand. And then the loneliness, again, as they were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> i deadass opened a google doc to write some smut and instead...this happened. 
> 
> title from  Evergreen  by Yebba
> 
> Any comments, criticisms, etc can be directed to the lovely little box below, and/or come say hi on my  Tumblr  :)
> 
> bisous,  
> bothareinfinite


End file.
